Don't Be Scared

A very smart, very accomplished friend of mine from Bridgeton recently told me that the quality of writing on this website has been so strong out of the gates that he's too intimidated to contribute. He said, (and I quote): "You've got Pulitzer Prize winners writing for you. I was cracking up reading about Ryan getting shot by a sniper. I actually had tears in my eyes."

Which brings me to this point: if you're from Bridgeton, you shouldn't be afraid of anything. Send your stories.

Second, this friend said that no one would even know any of his characters because he didn't grow up on Lake Street.

I want to address that: it doesn't matter if we don't know exactly who the people are as long as you describe what makes them interesting. Dave's entry "Fly" is a perfect example. I have no idea who that guy was, but Dave brought him to life in just a few short sentences. I know there are countless tales just like that, floating around in the ether, waiting for someone to put them to paper.

What are you waiting for?

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

"Fly"

This one is great.

Dave, father of Austin ("The Lake Street War of 1984") proves that a story doesn't have to be long to make an impact. I know for a fact that Dave has tons of legendary stories, and I personally hope that this is the first of many. I'll shut up now...

"Fly"
by Dave

The first time I saw him, I was amazed.

Here was a 6' 6" guy that had to be 27 years old playing basketball with a bunch of 12-year olds. I eventually heard the legend that he jumped off the roof and tried to fly as a young boy. They say he never mentally aged after that day. Everyone in my neighborhood and in the 4th Ward met and learned about special people from him. He played baseball and basketball and collected baseball cards with us. Many a slow summer day was spent playing catch and drinking sodas, hanging out with "Fly."

As we grew up and replaced baseball cards with girls, we hung around with him less and less. I like to think another group of 12-year olds became his new friends. I saw him again in my late 30's after I had kids of my own. He had really aged and obviously didn't recognize me, but his Mom got a little teary-eyed when I told her that whenever the old gang gets together and talks about the good old days, Fly still had a special place in our thoughts. As he used to say,"The monkey wrapped his tail around the flagpole."

I have no idea what that means, but I still say it all the time.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

Nerd of All Nerds

This next installment of "Bridgeton Legends" comes to us all the way from Germany, courtesy of Jared, who writes: "I think it's only fair that I tell this story since I am the one who actually holds the title."

The title, believe it or not, is "Nerd of All Nerds." This story is one of the all-time greatest hits of our childhood. It's a coming-of-age tale on par with "The Catcher in the Rye." Only "Nerd of All Nerds" is much, much better. And now, without further adieu...

Nerd of All Nerds
by Jared

When I was in elementary school my friends Kyle and Ryan held memberships to a private swim club called Georgetown. Every summer Kyle, Zak, Ryan and I would spend our days at Georgetown enjoying the summer sun where the girls were plentiful. This particular pool had a deep and shallow end, sliding board and two diving boards. It was on the high dive that I would earn my title.

One particular sunny, humid day Ryan, Zak, Kyle and I arrived at the pool ready for fun. As soon as we arrived I noticed that the Winnie Cooper of our childhood was there with a friend.
After getting changed and stowing our gear in a locker we hit the pool ready for a good time. I found myself on the diving boards practicing my sad attempts at cannon balls and flips while other more talented guys where doing 1 1/2's to perfection. After a few trips off the boards I noticed that Winnie was hanging out in the deep end of the pool watching the fellas take their turns at diving in.

A great idea hit me. I checked out the more talented divers and thought, "Hey, I can do that. Maybe Winnie will see me and think I'm cool." So, with that thought, I took the long trek up the ladder to the high dive. I paused for a moment to visualize my flip which would finish with a perfect dive into the cool water below. I took a deep breath, ran toward the end and thrusted myself off the platform with all my might. I flipped once, came around the second time and prepared to straighten out for my entrance into the water. Only, the water didn't wait. The water met my chest at a perfect angle for what resulted in the loudest SMACK ever heard at Georgetown. It was like a sonic boom. I immediately felt the pain, not only of embarrassment but physical, as well. I could not breath and sunk to the bottom of the pool hoping no one had witnessed the act and would forget about it by the time I surfaced.

Eventually I rose to the top of the water and swam to the ladder. I distinctively remember the life guard yelling, "Are you alright?" It was at that point that Winnie Cooper announced, "He is the nerd of all nerds."

Job well done on my part. I came away from the experience with a title, embarrassment and a lot of laughs. Good times.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

Crazy in Iraq

Jared writes:

I want to preface this story by letting you know that it is NOT about Bridgeton. But for all my former comrades-in-arms playing Army in the woods behind Lake Street---live vicariously through my experiences...

It was a hot, dry day just outside the city of Najaf, Iraq. My team and I had just been moved over to 1-64 Armor with the 3rd Infantry Division during the push to Baghdad. We were staged about a mile down the road from a major intersection just west of the city. It was about 1000 hours and we had been driving non-stop for the last two or three days. There I was, dressed in my chemical protection suit (minus the gas mask), carrying my M16 rifle, 110 rounds of 5.56 ammunition and wearing a kevlar vest and helmet. I had not bathed in about a week and could only imagine what I must have smelled like.

My team and I got a call that there was a situation up at the intersection and that we needed to get up there with our interpreter to find out what was going on. We jumped in our truck and drove up to the intersection. As we approached, an Army captain was standing in the middle of the road waving us down. We pulled off to the side of the road and immediately knew something bad had happened. When I got out of the truck I saw a US soldier pacing back and forth while mumbling curse words to himself. Just beyond him was a dead man lying on the ground in one of the most contorted positions I have ever seen. This would be the first dead body of the war that I would encounter, but not the last.

The Captain who waved us down proceeded to explain the situation to my team leader and interpreter. As they were talking I walked over to the mumbling soldier and tried to get his story on the situation. I asked him, "What happened man, are you alright"? He replied, "Fucker...so stupid...that guy is crazy, man." I asked again, "What happened here?" The soldier was still pacing back and forth, holding his head and cursing. I finally got him to stop and talk. It was at this point that I noticed a small crowd of Iraqi civilians gathering around the scene.

The soldier began to tell me his story. "I was off to the side of the road, over there in the bushes, trying to take a shit. My team and I were pulling security to screen anyone coming through this intersection. Then all of a sudden this crazy fucker comes running out of his house, from across the street, throwing rocks at me and yelling. I blocked the first rock he threw with my hand." The soldier showed me his bloody hand at that point. He continued, "Then he threw a second rock and it hit me in the head. I yelled to my buddy to shoot the guy. I could not react fast enough because I was in the middle of taking a shit. My buddy fired and hit the guy in the waist but he kept coming. So I stood up and shot the fucker in the chest. I couldn't even pull my fucking pants up man. I shot him with my pants around my ankles man. Fucking crazy bastard!"

It was a strange story to say the least. I immediately believed it though, as the soldier's pants were still undone and he continued pacing. Just as he finished telling me the story an Iraqi civilian emerged from the gathering crowd and asked to speak with our interpreter. The Iraqi explained that the dead body on the ground was his brother. The Army Captain immediately tried to explain the situation and appease the family member. The Iraqi immediately interrupted the Army Captain and stated, "It's okay, it's okay. My brother was crazy anyway. We usually kept him chained to the bed in his room because he was so crazy. He was the village crazy person." At that point two other Iraqi's came through the crowd with a blanket, wrapped up the body and carried it away.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

An Icon Steps Forward...

Ray Maier, a true Bridgeton Icon, has offered to write up the story of when Jared got thrown out of a Cohansey Soccer Leage game. This should be good.

If there ever were true Bridgeton Legends, it's the Maier family. I've known them my entire life and know for a fact that they have tons of great stories. I've asked Jared to recruit all of them for this project.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

14+1

I-e I-e I-e I-e I need somebody to write up the history of the greatest fucking rock n' roll band of all time, Thirsty Jerk.

Alex? Bill? Rich?

Of course, we all remember Thirsty Jerk's rock opera "14+1." But what of the origins of that phrase? It will take a bold person to step into those waters.

By the way, what's 5 times 3?

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

A Call to Arms

The following public service announcment comes to us from Ryan Olah. If this essay doesn't inspire you to start writing and contributing, nothing will. It's incredible in every way. This guy WILL write a bestseller someday.

Two things, however:

1) I am NOT the author of this site. I'm just a guy with a guitar, pouring his heart out.

But really, this site is meant to be a collection of authors. If you've got something good to say, we'd love for you to join us.

2) Just so there's no confusion: Bridgeton Legends is not meant to be limited to Lake Street Legends. We'll take any neighborhood, any era, as long as it's Bridgeton-related. But don't expect to top Lake Street Legends for sheer absurdity. And trust me, we've got a brutal group of witnesses so there will be no doubt by the time we're through: this shit happened.

Prepare to be inspired...

My Past Is Catching Up With Me
by Ryan Olah

Something I've failed to tell you before this point in our relationship: I was a warchild. Dear readers, please welcome the newest blog on the block, Bridgeton Legends. It just so happens that it's about everything that's happened on my block of origin. It's weird, the site is authored by Kyle, the guy who puts more work into holaolah than I do, and he's recruiting the old gang to immortalize the tales of the old neighborhood and town.

I'm excited and scared. Excited because there's a lot of gold in these stories. We had a very rich upbringing and there are laughs a plenty to be had by the readers/hearers of these legends. I guess the scared part comes with the fact that these stories are finally being put down. We'll no longer have the oral tradition to tell around the fires when we take our firstborn out into the woods to teach them the old ways of digging trenches for the impending Russian invasion, how to use a Wiffleball bat as a rock launcher, building match-head bombs, and the lengths that some of us will go to to complete our G.I. Joe collections.

The Lakestreetians will now be chronicled, and the embellishments might cease. We'll have to come to a communally agreed upon version of the truth. There is a danger in documentation, we might lose the flourish of a new voice in the retelling of our old tales. If I do commit the story of the "Fire on the Wire," will I truly be able to capture my father's pride in the event? Can I write it in such a way that will convey his tears of joy in making Mrs. Morvay lose her steaks? Another reason I am kinda dreading this venture goes something like this -- the legends that I am involved with usually end up with me being embarrassed or preyed upon in some way. The legend titled "Rusty's Cage" will basically end with me being captured by the older guys on the block and thrown into the pen of Kyle's horn-dog Golden Retriever, Rusty. To make a long story short, Rusty was a sexual predator, and the kids on my block stood outside his cage laughing as Rusty, well, used me as his bitch. Fun times. This is the reason that I prefer cats.

But really, all of the above can be chalked up to fear. At least we'll be doing something deliberate to try and get this stuff down. That's worth a lot. I think we can tackle all those previously mentioned concerns as they come up. For now, we're starting something, and that speaks volumes about the people of my hometown. There's no more saving this stuff for a rainy day -- waiting till someone pays us to write them or until one of us finds some sweet writing gig somewhere which probably won't happen. I do still think that Mr. Ira Glass and his "This American Life" radio-show should take notice of this cache of great storytelling.

It's like the old neighborhood gang is calling me out to play "Hide & Go Seek Army," or calling me out to fight for some reason I don't understand. There's no point in staying inside anymore, there's nothing on TV. The real life is outside, on the street. I guess I'll go out and play. And if they try and throw me into a dog pen again, make no mistake, I will fight any beast that attempts to have his way with me.

Let's write.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

Jared's On Board

Don't just take my word for it...

Jared, a Bronze Star recipient (and the 2005 winner of The Kyle McCormick Award For Excellence) has called this site---and I quote---"genius." More importantly, he promised to send material for your reading enjoyment.

In addition, we here at Bridgeton Legends continue to eagerly await Ryan "holaolah" Olah's forthcoming saga "Fire on the Wire." All you reader (soon to be readers) can also look forward to the following:

"The Dart" (aka "I Don't Deal in Tissues")

"A Child Called Wombat"

and the first installment of "Where Are They Now?"

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

The Lake Street War of 1984

Austin writes:

Not many people are aware of a small territorial war that occurred in the back yards of Lake St. during the 1980’s. This was not a conventional war. It was more of an oppression of the wild youth of that time period. On one side, you had Ryan Olah, Kyle McCormick, Zak Headrick, Jared Maier, and a few unsuspecting fishermen (non-Lake St. people---civilians, if you will). On the other side, a lone gunman, a BB Gun sniper. This sniper would fire at any of these enemies who dared fish the waters behind 109 Lake St. Most times, the sniper would miss several times before the victim would realize they were being targeted. Once they realized though, it would become a mad scramble for cover. Innocent kids turned into scared prey in the blink of an eye. That area of Jeddy’s became a mini-Sarajevo.

One August day, the first casualty of the war was taken down by the sniper. By this point, the mere sound of a window opening sent the kids scrambling for safety. The sniper spotted his target. A young Ryan Olah taunted him by fishing in the clearing behind the Morvays. Everyone knew this was a favorite Kill Zone. Yet, young Ryan threw caution to the wind with dreams of a 5 pound carp.

Many speculated the sniper had stocked Jeddy’s that year, just to lure the targets in, but this is nonsense. As the sniper pumped his air rifle, he planned a surprise attack. He would fling open the patio door and fire quickly to try to pin his prey down. Then, he could circle around Mrs. Woodruff’s driveway and rush Ryan’s hideout. Well, it started as planned. The door flung open, and the sniper quickly pointed the rifle and fired. The golden BB went sailing, as if in slow motion. The sniper watched it arc up and start back down. Could it be? No Way! A direct hit. The BB hit its victim in the back, dead center. Ryan should have earned the nickname, “Potato Sack”, because that is what he dropped like. Face first into the dirt. He let out a deafening scream as he went down. At first, the sniper feared he had shot a 6 year old girl. Initially, Ryan lay still, playing possum. But as the distinct sound of a BB gun being pumped reached his ears, instinct kicked in. He jumped up and took off. I fired two more shots at him, as he sprinted home, but just to keep him running. I didn’t want him turning me into the U.N. (i.e. Grandma Headrick). That would have meant some form of sanctions against me. Sorry Ryan, War is Hell.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

The Die is Cast

Dear Readers, here's what you can expect in the days to come...

Ryan, by a majority vote, has been assigned the following story: "Fire on the Wire." This is a famous Lake Street legend that only gets better with age.

Also, we'd like to see "The Queen of Sweden 'Frees' Zachary Brownbear" if Ryan can fit it into his busy schedule.

Austin, we're eagerly awaiting "The Deer Slayer." Another classic. You also have something secret you're cooking up? Can't wait.

Zak, I don't expect much from you for a week. Have fun in the Dominican Republic. I hate you.

Nate suggested "The Legend of Buford Biggz." Any takers?

Send the stories to me and I'll post them. Don't be surprised if I do some editorial work.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

Bring It

Zak, Austin, Ryan, Royce, Kyle G., Alex...bring it.

Nate G., if you're reading this, likewise.

And I need you guys to pass this along to anyone else who might bring something good to the table.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

Liftoff

This site is dedicated to the people of Bridgeton, NJ---past and present. If you've got a Bridgeton story, send it to us. If this thing takes off, the world will learn what the rest of us have known for years, that this town is rife with great material. Let's spread the word.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com